CHAPTER VI.
The Misty Morning—Another Indian Scrimmage—Mountain-fever—Never say Die—A Rascally Proceeding—My Six-shooter and a Somersault—"Lo! the Poor Indian!"—His Letter of Introduction—The Ultimate Warmth of His Reception—Nearly Squaring Accounts—A Relapse—Left Behind in Highly Dramatic Attire—First Results with New Acquaintances—Kindness of My Captain—Greater Kindness of His Friend—Becoming a Gold-digger.
It was what sailors term a nasty day when we left this valley. A heavy mist, which was almost rain, veiled the surrounding range of country. Little beyond the eighth of a mile, in front of us or on either side, was visible.
About noon, some of our scouts brought the Captain information that matters looked squally, ahead of the train.
In fact, they had discovered some fresh traces of our red enemies. A halt was at once ordered, and I was despatched ahead with forty of the men to discover, if possible, what the present danger might be.
Nothing for some time presenting itself to verify the report Captain Crim had received, I took a leaf from his book and divided my boys into two parties. This resulted about half a mile farther in a sharp firing from the other party, which suddenly ceased, and in a few minutes more we came across the Indians, who were retreating in good order. Once more, I turned what I had learnt since I first joined Crim, to good account. Concealing my men, we astonished them by a round volley, which sent them off in double-quick time.
We were once more masters of the situation, and shortly after the train was again advancing.
Keeping a careful look-out, in order to prevent an ambush, this evening we struck Gravelly Ford, on the southern bank of the Humboldt.